Perfume
by Appointment
Summary: Harry loved her perfume. Written for the Terminally Ill Challenge on the HPFC. Harry/Ginny. EDIT: First place.


perfume

_harry + ginny_

"come on, oh, my star is fading, and i see no chance of release, and i know i'm dead on the surface, but i'm just screaming underneath."

* * *

><p>It was last autumn, or no, <em>last<em> last autumn – it could have been centuries ago, really, it's illusorily timeless – when she knew for sure, when she knew it was true that she was in love with a boy who had bones that jutted, who was just a little too thin, and whose dark hair turned upwards and stuck out in all the wrong places. He had eyes that were bright and a smile that made her stomach fall down to her toes, a laugh that wasn't used often enough, a voice that often commented how much lovelier the day seemed when he had her hand in his. To Ginny, skinny, bespectacled Harry was all she really needed, he was perfect.

It was last autumn when he kissed her – not for the first time, but it had always felt like it – and it was in the middle of the night, watching the cold stars wait to disappear with the greet of sunlight. What had made it so special, well; it had been the ring that slid itself on her finger, cold yet warm, and the color of the stars overhead.

_Oh, how she misses the stars. _

It was something like winter when she was his world – actually, no, she had always been his world. She'd never stand being anything but. He was everything she'd ever needed, everything she'd ever imagined.

_Hell, he still is._

She told him she'd love him, _forever_, _forever_, _forever_. There was nothing but _forever_. He'd hold her through the night, watching the sunset dissipate into black and blue and twinkling stars, and he could only smell her perfume, of which she had purchased with him in mind.

She remembers it was around late summer when things became different, when night had been day and day had been night, and it was hell all over again, effortlessly worse than the long year of 1998. It seemed impossible for everything to fall apart in minutes, for doctors to tear apart houses and families and friendships with cold words and sympathy that lacked sympathy.

Leaves had begun to fall from the trees, and how she wished that they would flutter back up, and live forever, and ever. It had gotten colder out when he had begun to grow weaker and weaker, when all he could do was sleep in her arms, lacking warmth – she held still, not a single tear had been allowed to fall on his face.

It was almost as if she had shared the pain in his stomach when she had watched him try to eat, her hands shaking just as much as his. He was getting thinner, thinner, _so so so thin_, but she never cried. It was all she could do – hold it in – be strong. Though, even the strongest foundation had faults when she heard him mutter _"There's no hope, Gin."_

"_There's always hope, Harry – you shouldn't say that." _

He had given up, and it had seemed so unrealistic, so unnatural, so horrible. It hadn't made any sense for him to give up, it was irrational and –

He had been _tired_.

Now, it's around winter, and all she can do is rifle through his things before bed, and remember the way he used to feel and sound and _love_. She wants to forget, more than anything, because that's what makes it hurt a little more, though she'd never forgive herself if she did forget Harry – her Harry, Ginny's Harry. And then there's the moments when she tries exceptionally hard to remember everything about him, the good things, but all she can remember is the look in his eyes – the unfathomable heartache that floated in irises the shade of sleepy, dull green when he held her for the last time. She had worn the perfume, he had told her that he loved it – he loved her.

He told her that he loved her perfume – the sugary smell of springtime, flowers in bloom and a young breeze – but it's a scent her senses don't comprehend anymore, as if the bottle had been labelled and replaced with despair itself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sadness. I love Harry/Ginny, and it felt bad to tear them apart. D: This was written for the Terminally Ill Challenge on the HPFC. Leave a review, please! **The lyrics above are Coldplay, which I don't own, same goes to Harry Potter. _Prompts used – weakness, doctor, sunset, warmth, hope._


End file.
